


Upon My Word and Honor

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Smoking Draco, Unrequited Love, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-hope war story that has thrown together two unlikely allies in an effort to dispel the madness and despair that seems to run rampant.  As I went to Bonner, I met a pig without a wig, upon my word and honor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon My Word and Honor

**Author's Note:**

> I have yet to find a Percy/Draco story that truly speaks to me. This was my attempt at actually giving them something of substance and plot as I've mostly ever found PWPs.

 

Percy glanced around the corner, a low, mechanical hum like the buzz of a refrigerator reaching his ears. He closed his eyes and withdrew with a panicked breath, wondering how he had gotten himself into such a predicament. A white-blond head whipped around in front of him, a cheeky grin on his sly face as a sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs lightly. Percy groaned involuntarily and the blond's grin widened.  
  
"You've got a death wish," Percy muttered, his tone bantering even though he was not entirely sure he was joking.  
  
The blond waggled his eyebrows and said assuredly, "You'll be mad for me before this is all over."  
  
Percy drew himself up briskly, his inherent haughtiness momentarily overtaking his panic. He looked down his nose at Malfoy in the most intimidating fashion he could muster.  
  
This only seemed to amuse the roguish blond and, with a wink, he grabbed Percy's hand in a rough and calloused grip and pulled him across the Death Eater patrolled hallway while the shifts changed, the journal tucked tightly under his arm.  
  
Percy ran, bumping into the blond occasionally as his stride was longer even though the blond boy was nearly his height. The cobblestones pounded unevenly against the soles of his feet and he felt unbalanced by the roughened path. Malfoy paid his ungainly step no heed as he stopped abruptly, Percy wobbling unsteadily as he nearly slammed into his deathly still form. The blond, nearly imperceptibly, cocked his head to the side while Percy tried to tug his hand from Malfoy's hellish grip.  
  
His action was wholly unsuccessful in anything other than making his palm sweat mightily and he began to feel heat creep up his collar as their hand-holding persisted. He opened his mouth, intending to lecture Malfoy on his impetuousness, when he heard the muffled echo of voices bouncing toward them. Malfoy's grip on Percy's now unseemly hand tightened and he led them further down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps, his other hand holding the leather-bound journal with unheard of care.  
  
He changed direction brusquely but definitively and yanked Percy to follow as he disappeared into what looked like solid wall. "An alcove?" Percy questioned, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses as if the action would lighten their complete darkness. The hairs on his neck prickled slightly as Malfoy was forced to stand so closely that Percy could feel each exhale against the underside of his chin.  
  
"In a convent that houses nothing but men with secrets, you seem surprised," Malfoy whispered impishly, his words brushing against Percy's hairline.  
  
Percy found himself unable to keep from imagining those plump lips forming each word. He frowned and told himself it was merely academic interest before a small, but dazzling light in the dark lit up the flashing silver eyes of his companion, like a wolf stalking its prey from the bushes. Percy looked down and saw the bright face of a wristwatch blasting half twelve.  
  
"We haven't much time before they close the compound for the night," Malfoy said, his breath short. Percy knew him well enough now that he recognized it not as panic but rather his unquenchable thirst for adventure. He saw time crunches as a challenge while Percy saw them as a rather worrisome impediment.  
  
He often wondered what brain trust had decided the pair were evenly matched but he was given no more time to consider as Malfoy pressed up against him, listening closely, his body thrumming slightly as the thrill for the impossible called to him. "Now," Malfoy whispered, his chin jutting out over Percy's shoulder and his excitement like a visible gust of air.  
  
He maneuvered himself around Percy, his eyes darting back and forth meticulously as the burly, stooped men responsible for the gruff echoes of earlier passed them by, their robes in tatters where they dragged against the cobbles and their wands in limp grips at their sides.  
  
Percy discreetly let out a shaky breath as Malfoy's body heat left his and the slight vibration of his charged form moved out of range. He adjusted his frames once again to give his nervous fingers a familiar purpose, and to distract from the real area that needed adjustment.  
  
"Ready?" Malfoy demanded of him, his cheeky grin so wide that Percy could see every glinting tooth in the dark.  
  
Percy gave a resolute nod and dropped his hand only to find it instantly caught in Malfoy's waiting grasp. He tried not to feel reassured by the action but gave it up as a Sisyphean task, allowing the secure warmth to overtake him.  
  
Malfoy pulled and Percy's two left feet followed obediently, only slightly surprised when Malfoy broke into a sprint, the hounds of hell apparently chomping at his ankles as he tore down the hallway. "Sixteen minutes," Malfoy panted back, his unstoppable grin slathering each word.  
  
Percy nodded agreeably even though he was barely focused on the man any longer, more concerned was he with the lack of oxygen that was getting to his brain as his lungs burned and he began to feel light headed. He had learned that complaining only got him branded as "stodgy" by the younger boy and smartly kept his silence.  
  
Malfoy led them through a veritable maze of pathways, each turn looking too uncomfortably similar to the last, each hallway equidistance from the one before and just as lengthy. Percy was beginning to see cobbles on the backs of his eyelids and began to give them up as lost when Malfoy all but slammed to a stop in front of the gates that they had stolen through nearly an hour earlier.  
  
The squares of the checkerboard pattern were large enough to fit them both, however awkwardly they had to contort themselves. Malfoy climbed through first, his left leg thrown over the iron bar, just shy of being close enough to the ground so he could rest comfortably. He propelled himself onto the tips of his toes to compensate for this and leaned forward so his nose was nearly touching the rusted rod and clenched his hands around the pole in order to swing himself over.  
  
He nearly overbalanced but managed to wobble and catch his center of gravity, straightening up in a dignified manner. Percy followed his lead while Malfoy stood on the other side, antsy and twisting about impatiently. "Hurry," he hissed, though Percy was already standing imperiously on the other side by the time he'd gotten the demand out.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes exasperatedly, clasped Percy's hand in his sweat-lined palm and tore past the planned empty entryway. "Malfoy," Percy blurted suddenly, pulling the blond boy to him and overpowering both of them so he ended up flat on his back, Malfoy having crashed into his chest, robbing him of breath. "Guards," he barely spoke, his voice nothing more than a breathless gush.  
  
The horrible crick of the gate's chain began to sound and Malfoy raised himself up, steely determination in the set of his jaw. A Glamour fell over his features as a larger, roughened palm shoved the thrice-cursed journal into Percy's lifeless hands. The hand reached out and helped Percy to his knees, a deep scar of calluses running sideways and diagonally through the palm. Percy took a moment to give the untried face a startled glance, fumbling the diary into his robes, wondering baldly how close the blond man had been to his Glamour's subject to produce such an accurate representation.  
  
The mottled hand gripped him by the back of the neck carelessly, favoring the left side, and the spidery fingers tightened into a fist around his ginger hair, a few strands pulling in opposite directions uncomfortably. A familiar wand pressed against his throat with an unfamiliar purpose and he made a gagging sound as it was shoved against his adam's apple.  
  
His gaze was focused solely on the black of oblivion before him. The coal-colored eyes crinkled and the mouth twitched unhandsomely. Suddenly a hearty cry rose up over the monotonous and unyielding cricks of the gate. "Macnair!"  
  
Another voice overlapped it and said with malevolent fun, "An executioner without his axe? I think I am seeing things, Avery." The last accompanied with a nudge to his companion.  
  
"Now, Rowle," Avery began in a slick tone, "I'm sure Macnair has a perfectly good explanation for what's happened to his battle axe. Just as he has a perfectly good explanation as to where my till is, or are you promising me your Muggle whore again, Walden, as you've realized the cards will never be in your favor, you cheap bastard?"  
  
The man's companion, Rowle as he had been addressed, tsked with sarcastic sympathy. "Gambling is such a dangerous habit, it's true."  
  
"I'll get you your money, Avery," the sturdy voice above Percy spat with apparent authority. "As you both can see," he growled, shifting Percy into view, "I've other treasures to attend to." Percy made a good show of whimpering as he was turned to the other men with the rough action, silently counting the seconds before they were inevitably sealed inside the ghastly compound.  
  
"Aye," said Rowle with evident seriousness, all sly bantering and smooth threats aside. "And just what is this treasure as yet untold?"  
  
A snarl tore from the throat of the man above him and the wand tip dug in uncomfortably deep. "You've done nothing to earn him, Rowle. You neither, Avery," he snarked as the man took a step forward evenly. "Bested by a _Conjunctivitus_ Curse," he said, jabbing his chin toward Rowle accusingly, "And you," toward Avery now, "A _Flipendo_ Jinx? You don't get rewarded for being outwitted by children."  
  
Avery glided forward with a wiry grin. "Have you forgotten that you owe me, Macnair? What's yours is mine." His hand came dangerously close to lingering on Percy's cheek. Percy did his best not to cringe and instead gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw.  
  
"Wages, not victims," the voice above him jeered, the fist in Percy's hair tightening imperceptibly to their onlookers.  
  
Rowle's lumbering form came up to stand next to Avery's and the two shared a silent camaraderie exchanged through knowing glances. "Perhaps we would consider your debt repaid if you gave us a turn with him."  
  
Percy trembled slightly, sadly not at all feigned, while Macnair's visage sneered. "'Perhaps?'" The too-large hand removed the wand from Percy's neck and gestured to their surroundings. "Here we speak in absolutes or not at all."  
  
Avery's entire face morphed with the considerable frown he quickly donned. His lowered eyebrows danced as he wiped away the expression, though the one that lingered was still one of ugliness. "I cannot give you absolutes, Macnair."  
  
"Then I cannot give you what is rightfully mine," Macnair's voice gritted victoriously.  
  
Rowle ruffled at Avery's side and his hand made the telltale cupping motion of a wand sliding down his forearm to be caught in his waiting palm. " _Stupefy_ ," said a vengeful voice from above Percy and both men fell flat, Rowle with a greater and rather unceremonious thump.  
  
Percy rose to his feet, brushing off Macnair's hand, roughly enough to cause now silver eyes to widen in incomprehension but amiable enough that the newly blond man knew better than to ask after it now. He straightened his glasses with a twitchy hand and a slight frown.  
  
Ignoring Percy's rather explicit, if unspoken, direction Malfoy grasped his hand and they tore to the front wall, a monumental mass of black sandstone that would intimidate even the bravest of men. Malfoy went first, throwing himself forward, legs first, sliding into the grate and using his momentum to help kick out the latticed bars. He crawled forward and Percy hurried in after him once there was space enough.  
  
Percy could just barely see the gleam of white-blond hair ahead in the tunnel before he turned and welded the bars back into position. He dragged himself through the sludge at the bottom of the pipeline, justifying it to his dignity as a strict necessity, silently cursing Draco Malfoy while his robes were hauled through the puddles, retaining whatever they saw fit.  
  
Endless twists and turns in the pipes later and he found himself standing on a dingy, brick road, the streetlamps halo of light just up ahead. Malfoy was leaning against the wall the pipe was fitted inside, a bright ember illuminating his serene face. "Took you long enough," Malfoy muttered as he dropped the cigarette and snubbed it beneath his heel.  
  
Malfoy flicked his wrist over and checked his watch's face. "Three. Two. One," he counted with a bitter expression. On one, the pipe slid back into the wall and disappeared, solid brick replacing its open face. Malfoy's eyes flickered up to him and he questioned evasively, "Ready?"  
  
Percy forcefully cut back his angry retort and motioned for Malfoy to lead the way. The blond boy instead strutted forward, gave him a crafty smirk, and grabbed Percy's clenched fist in his hand and wrapped the other around his waist. "Dance with me, Weasley," he said with his cheeky grin.  
  
Percy scowled and was just escalating his resistance against the hands that were gripping him when he felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition ensnare him. They reappeared with a _pop_ outside of a trodden down warehouse. Malfoy offered him his token grin and Percy huffed angrily. "You're a child," he said coldly, breaking Malfoy's grip and striding up to the front door. "From the ashes," Percy spat the password abstractly, jumping slightly when Malfoy leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "The smoke rises."  
  
Percy raised a stern brow and bristled. "You always expect the worst."  
  
"And am generally right," Malfoy reminded curtly, pushing past Percy, leaving him bewildered on the front step.  
  
He was still scowling when he entered the main atrium. A large, stripped table rested in the middle of the otherwise empty slate room. He took a moment to glance up at the high ceilings that looked as if they would collapse at any moment before nodding his acknowledgement of the others' presence.  
  
Malfoy had already slammed the journal down on the counter in front of Harry Potter, his shoulders hunched as he leaned forward on the palms of his hands to glower over the table. Percy could see a map underneath that he had undoubtedly been studying when Malfoy had interrupted carelessly.  
  
Potter blinked up at Percy as he came to stand on the other side of him, across the table. "Well done," he said tonelessly.  
  
Percy was never sure how to refer to the man. He was a bit larger than life for him, a legend rather than a person, so more often than not Percy found himself addressing him as 'Harry Potter' in his mind until a precedent was set. Around his brothers, Harry Potter was 'Harry,' around Malfoy he was 'Potter.'  
  
"Did you get a chance to rifle through it?" Potter questioned Percy, entirely ignoring Malfoy's presence, who didn't seem to care about this development one way or another. But then, he never seemed to care about much anymore.  
  
"No," Percy answered succinctly just as Malfoy said, unheeding, "Yes."  
  
So that was what had taken so long. He felt another lecture on Malfoy's recklessness building in his esophagus and pushed it back down tirelessly.  
  
Potter reluctantly twisted his head toward Malfoy and his face seemed to age ten years as he did so. "Well?" he questioned boorishly.  
  
Malfoy ignored him and lit another smoke. He played with it between his fingers once the proper end had been ignited and stared at the falling embers as he spoke.  "The next is Gaunt's ring. It's at the old house."  
  
Potter leaned forward domineeringly. "And you know where that is?"  
  
Malfoy dragged on his cigarette. Purposefully, or so Percy thought, delaying the moment Potter so hungered for. He blew out his smoke with obscene slowness and said nonchalantly, "Just call me your good luck charm." He followed this up by leering lecherously at the other man.  
  
Potter looked disgruntled by this and only barked out, skirting his gaze back to Percy, "And the others?"  
  
"All listed," Malfoy announced without inflection, ashing on Potter's splayed left hand.  
  
The man growled and raised his hand until the ash fell from it. "And?" he asked through clamped teeth, his patience clearly wearing thin.  
  
"And," Malfoy said loftily, dancing his cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, "we've got the diary and the locket taken care of. I figure your _dream team_ can go after Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's diadem. I say it's a toss-up of who goes after that fucking snake but this is the one _you_ should be concerned with, Potter."  
  
Potter glared at him as Malfoy's hand slid under him and threw the journal open to a predesignated page. He pointed to a passage and Potter read with a grim set to his mouth. Half a minute passed and Potter had picked up the diary and was now holding it unbearably close to his face. It made Percy want to slap the book away if only to save the boy's eyes. Instead, his hands immediately went to adjust his own glasses as if that would help his discomfort.  
  
" _I' _m__ a Horcrux," Potter announced in a daunted tone, the journal falling from his nerveless fingers.  
  
Malfoy slipped his wand from his robe's sleeve and placed it at Potter's temple. He came and stood behind the man, his other hand placed over Potter's throat. "Shall I do it now, Potter?" Malfoy breathed against his wand's tip.  
  
Potter shivered and Ron rose to his defense, his fist hurtling toward Malfoy but the blond simply twirled away from him while Ron snarled at him. Malfoy laughed hoarsely, smirking at Potter.  
  
"You're fucking insane, Malfoy," Potter choked out, grabbing for his throat even though Malfoy had exerted no pressure on his hold.  
  
Malfoy only bowed mockingly and Ron growled after watching the display, "We don't have to put up with his shit, Harry. We could turn him in now and be no worse off."  
  
Harry placed a staying hand in front of Ron as he made to move toward Malfoy and said definitively, "That's not how we repay those who help us. Malfoy risked his life to sneak into his father's chambers and steal his journal. We owe him."  
  
Malfoy acknowledged Harry's words with a wave of his hand and said in an engaged tone, his first of the night, "I say you lot go after the cup tomorrow at Gringotts, me and Weasley here will get the ring."   
  
'Weasley and I,' Percy corrected tirelessly, if silently, nearly missing Malfoy's next words.   
  
"—likely enchantments on the lot so make sure you take Granger with you," said Malfoy, pointing toward Hermione with his cigarette tip.  
  
"Or we could split," said Harry, seemingly just to be contradictory. "Ron and Hermione could go after the cup and I could find the diadem."  
  
Malfoy didn't even dignify this with a response so it fell to Percy to point out the glaring flaw. "You don't know enough about de-jinxing to try and make a go of it on your own," Percy said, his tone academic and therefore not to be trifled with.  
  
Harry seemed to deflate and muttered, "Right, so we've got the cup. You've got the ring."  
  
"Harry, what about—" Hermione began but her voice fell short of her point.  
  
To everyone's surprise it was Malfoy's voice that answered her unspoken question, of which all present knew the intent of, "We'll finish the ring, cup, diadem, and snake then Potter will finish it. Then we'll finish him."  
  
Malfoy's cigarette had extinguished in the interim and he busied himself with finding his lighter once again, not noticing the shocked faces that were turned toward him.  
  
"We won't—" Ron started, his tone macho and furious, but Potter cut him off and admitted quietly, "He's right. It doesn't have to be done in a specific order. I'll be the last Horcrux destroyed, once Voldemort's physical form is dead."  
  
"You can count on me," Malfoy said sardonically and with a wink, lighting his cigarette and sucking on the end intensely for a few moments.  
  
Ron looked ready to lay him out while Potter looked a mix between disgusted and grateful. Percy was arrested in pure shock. He had never been able to predict Malfoy's behavior and this moment was no exception.  
  
"When?" Potter quested gruffly, effectively distracting the rest of them from Malfoy's indifferent behavior for the moment.  
  
"We'll go after the ring tomorrow," Malfoy answered easily, a shock of white-blond hair falling over his silver eyes which were focused solely on his cigarette's lighted end. Percy visibly ruffled at not being consulted but knew procedure well enough not to argue.  
  
"Then we'll go after the cup tomorrow and we'll meet back here when it's finished," Harry said determinedly and finitely. There was an unnecessary display of acquiescence around the table as each of them, sans Malfoy, gave an agreeable nod.  
  
Potter, surprisingly, handed the journal back to Malfoy and the blond boy shoved it into his robe pocket swiftly. He raised his eyes to Percy and lifted his chin to indicate they should leave together.  
  
Percy, who was still annoyed with Malfoy's earlier behavior, sniffed haughtily, pretending not to have seen the action and averted his eyes definitively before he drew himself away from the table with a determined air and his chest ballooned proudly.  
  
Even though he told himself he didn't care for Malfoy's next movements, he was relieved to hear the spark of the blond's lighter from only a few paces away. And while Malfoy made no effort to catch up to him, it was obvious that he was moving with purpose, not straying far from Percy's determined struts.  
  
They had walked nearly a block in silence, Malfoy shaking a gasless lighter while his lifeless cigarette hung careless, and nearly forgotten, between his slick, coral lips and Percy wrapping his cloak tighter about him as if to ward against a headwind that was entirely imagined. The streetlights haloed them in light, making the occasional strips of darkness seem all the more untrustworthy. And all the while Percy walked with his head down, the fierce, invented wind gusting forcefully against him. Always against him.  
  
"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Malfoy said finally, breaking the painful, tension-filled silence. Though Percy hadn't realized it was either or those things until it had been stolen away from him. And good riddance indeed. Malfoy's decisive voice sliced through the distance between them, questing, though it seemed like an easy and slapdash type of inquiry, where the answer mattered little to not at all.  
  
Percy turned to face him, and suddenly he knew why his cloak's lapels were flipped up against his mouth, a stronghold against the cruelly absent cold. As his cheeks pinked and his lips struggled to form words of chastisement, he was grateful for its shielding embrace against such intuitive silver eyes.   
  
The whole debacle seemed silly now, a piffle really, and certainly nothing to upset himself over. But what was done was done and he would have to explain himself. He drew himself up stirringly and adjusted his glasses with practiced fingers, pursing his lips. "You could have just as easily used a Disillusionment charm."  
  
To his surprise, Malfoy did not laugh and say something derisive nor did he sneer at him and taunt. He simply shook his head slowly, but with an air of seriousness that could not be ignored. "No," he answered aloud after a slight pause. His mercifully lighted cigarette was carefully ashed at his feet with the deliberate tap of a pale finger before it was brought back up to accepting lips. Deep inhale, his chest expanding with an easy rise, slow exhale, and a matching fall. It ensured Percy's absolute attention, and somehow he thought that had been Malfoy's intention right along.  
  
Malfoy's voice was rough and habitual, as though his motives had been questioned on more than one occasion. "I did what I did because I had to. I can't Disillusion well enough to fool even a retarded Muggle child, my Glamours are impenetrable."  
  
Percy gawked at him blankly, feeling oddly as if he had been transported back to his first year: the slight superiority in the voice of his professors, as though they were explaining something he should know but that they knew he would not. He shook off the shroud of penalized student visibly and said stoutly, "It's good to see not everything is a joke with you."  
  
"Yeah." Malfoy laughed, more breath than sound, and said in a barren tone of voice, "Why would one ever want to forget that there's a war on?"   
  
The rebuke stung more than Percy liked to admit. Because he didn't want to forget, it felt like a disservice to those that had fallen to overlook it for even a moment. There was no time for Malfoy's brand of 'life.' He saw things with a cynical tint while Percy looked upon it with determination. Life could be filed, predicted, locked away, stored. Malfoy was impetuous and dangerous. There was no room for that in Percy's organized world.  
  
Malfoy was a temptation that had just proven himself to be incompatible with everything Percy held dear. He supposed, in its own way, that was crushing enough for one night. He berated himself for not Apparating as soon as he had exited the warehouse. _What had he been waiting - worse, hoping - for?_ With a knowingly disappointed glance at the night's face, he noted with a defeated tilt to his shoulders that it was more than time to see himself home to his empty, comfortingly familiar flat.  
  
"Where are you going?" came Malfoy's voice from behind him, again it was smooth, not desperate nor demanding, simply incurious and slightly listless.  
  
"Home," Percy answered with enunciated scorn.  
  
Malfoy hitched his shoulders in a slight movement and breathed in the last drag of his cigarette. He dropped it to the slicked cobbles, crushing it beneath a ready heel and, hidden in the thick smoke was the indifferent plea, "Come with me."  
  
Percy's own shoulders tensed as the request hit him squarely in the chest. "Where?" he questioned without inflection, wondering what had possessed him to even entertain the idea.  
  
Malfoy shrugged, his jacket bunching up under his arms where his robes were parted. "Does it matter?" he inquired coolly.  
  
 _No._  
  
"Yes."  
  
Percy didn't get an answer, just a crooked grin and a familiar hand slipping into his own loose grasp, unprepared as it was for company.  
  
Once the pressure on his eyeballs had receded, Percy recognized the frantic lights, limp movements, and blasting noise as that of a rather popular wizarding establishment: _Winged Steed_ \- which he recognized from reports of course, not experience. It was often raided by Aurors and sometimes - though not often - Percy had allowed himself to indulge in the forbidden, glancing over the DMLE's intelligence on such businesses as he filed - and grammatically corrected - their incident forms.  
  
The stories had grown rather wild for Percy's tastes and he had given it up, instead straying to reading over the fairly innocuous and often humorous reports submitted by the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. Though he had read enough to get a rather graphic picture of the nightclub: illegal potions, sex parties, sub-par health standards, Muggle drugs and rampant fistfights. And he had been dragged here by Draco Malfoy of all people.  
  
If this didn't prove not only what intense opposites they were, but also that Malfoy knew nothing about him, then Percy didn't know what would hammer the idea in. "Malfoy, I appreciate your inclusion here, but I think I ought to go home," Percy said primly, though rather louder than he was used to, having to usurp the rubbish-like sounds coming from the open doorway.  
  
Malfoy's eyes were sparking faintly as they studied the planes of Percy's face, lingering on the ginger eyebrows, the horn-rimmed frames, and the light dusting of freckles across his nose and upper cheeks. Whether he was pleased or not with what he found, Percy didn't know, but the blond's grip had only tightened.  
  
Percy was forcibly pulled forward by his captured appendage, though he considered simply splinching himself and labeling it an unfortunate but necessary casualty of war. It was his left hand, anyway. A calculated sacrifice, truly.  
  
He moved through the crowd, gliding through, pulled almost by an invisible force as all that was discernible of Malfoy were occasional glimpses of his hair that reminded too much of Lucius. He wondered if the younger Malfoy would ever escape the comparison.   
  
Leather and sweat slipped against Percy from every direction and the oppressive air tasted of equal parts broken dreams and broken condoms. Every so often Percy would bump into the back of Malfoy as he stopped, propositions from men and women flooding him. He would politely decline, a feral smirk on his lips, and promise silkily, 'Later.'  
  
Percy floundered for a way out of this, Malfoy's grip, this devilish club, these awkward stares, wondering why he had come at all. To be an obstacle to Malfoy's sexual habits? That was certainly not what he'd had planned; being thrown into the feeble warden role, or worse, the geeky older brother.  
  
"Malfoy, I—" The words got lost in the stifled atmosphere of the club and Percy swallowed mightily, defeated for the moment but ready to try again as soon as conditions were more conducive to escape plans.  
  
It was only moments later that Percy was swung forward by Malfoy's controlling hand with enough momentum to take out a full grown thestral - which, of course, he remembered sadly, most everyone could see these days. He fell sideways into a sticky leather booth, Malfoy immediately pressing against his left side and physically scooting him over.  
  
He righted himself with a pinched expression, pushing his glasses back up his nose with an inchworm-like finger, only then realizing that the booth Malfoy had pushed him into was not unoccupied. He cleared his throat, intending to offer his hand to the other occupant when he caught sight of said occupant.  
  
The woman was rather odd, and intimidating, in her dress. She seemed to be among those who had picked up on the dress code and was wearing a tight leather bodice and a quick, pessimistic, glance under the table showed leather shorts, fishnet stockings, and leather boots with overlarge heels and a tongue that came up mid-calf. All black, of course. And perhaps a whip at her side, though Percy hoped that was a figment of his nonexistent overactive imagination.  
  
Her dark hair was cut nearly as short as Percy's own and she was wearing heavy blue eye shadow and waving about an unlit - no doubt due to the waving - cigarette that had pink lipstick smeared all over the end. Her eyes were piggy and narrowed, and her nose seemed squashed somehow, though Percy had stopped noticing all of the woman's attributes as he was now staring openly at the woman's bared left forearm.  
  
He shot a disbelieving look at Malfoy who only slipped his arm over the booth's back, dropping his hand on Percy's shoulder and squeezing, as if to say, 'I know.' Percy realized, his face coloring slightly, that the way they were sitting - with Malfoy's arm around the back of him and he sitting turned towards the lady, leaning back and into Malfoy slightly - they must look like a couple.  
  
A part of him was tempted to move, dispel the ill-conceived notion, while the other was eager to shift further into the blond man's embrace. He ended up frozen between the two and took to staring at the woman's ever-darting eyes as she and Malfoy spoke in harassed whispers.  
  
"And what has brought you out of hiding, Draco?" the woman said smoothly, somehow managing to blow her cigarette smoke directly into Percy's face despite the fact that she was turned away.  
  
Percy coughed, sputtered, and unintentionally sunk lower in his seat. He had no issue with being treated as empty space, however he refused to inhale anyone's second-hand smoke. He cast a Bubble Head Charm, hoping the other two wouldn't notice, and stared out at the dance floor, arms crossed over his chest and Malfoy's fingers drawing light patterns on his shoulder. Something he was trying desperately not to notice.  
  
The two continued to speak as a waitress brought drinks over but Percy couldn't bring himself to pay attention as Malfoy leaned closer, his breath beating continuously over Percy's ear, and his fingers having moved up to his neck. He could only hope the introduction of beverages wouldn't force the blond to move his hand.  
  
Malfoy picked up his drink, taking a detailed sip, thankfully without shifting his position in the slightest. Percy could feel his neck and ear overheat at the attention and knew they would be bright red indicators of his unwelcome enjoyment, but his delight outweighed his anxiety and he only sunk further, boneless, against Malfoy's chest.  
  
The view of the club from his warmer, and more comfortable, position was a more generous one than he'd held before. These people weren't detriments to society, they were simply carefree youths and Malfoy's hand wasn't an impediment to thinking clearly, but merely a reward for hard work.  
  
He glanced at the tabletop, now barely more than eye level above it, and frowned. With a lazy flick of his wand the three drinks rose off the table and coasters appeared beneath them. His mother would have been more than appreciative of such an act, and he was sure the table approved as well as it would be spared more watermarks.  
  
It was only as the conversation lulled and he recognized that both parties were staring at him, did Percy realize how dated and pathetic that must have made him look. He hoped Malfoy wouldn't move away from him in disgust, pretending not to know him. But Malfoy only looked down at him and raised an eyebrow, the curve of his lips amused, not judgmental.  
  
Percy blushed, a light tinge, feeling foolish, and ripped his eyes away from Malfoy's as the conversation reformed, stilted now but gaining legs.  
  
His eyes were beginning to blur as the gyrating hips on the dance floor blended into one single streak of light before he was pulled into his tablemate's conversation by the dismissive bark of his own name.  
  
Of course, his name was all he'd heard, but he'd felt Malfoy's hand on his shoulder tighten as if to shield him. The hand left him then to pluck the cigarette from the woman's outstretched fingers and draw in a deep and wasting breath, he scorched the table as he twisted the spent thing on the countertop and raised his eyes to meet the waiting woman's.  
  
"This one," Malfoy asked with a knowing smirk, indicating Percy, and the woman's eyes flicked to his ginger hair as if in confirmation. Malfoy pulled him closer as he leaned towards the beady eyes of their companion. "It's the quiet ones you've got to look out for," his velvet voice breathed, draping over the distance between them.  
  
The woman sneered at him and fiercely pushed a little piece of paper towards the both of them, Percy holding his breath as if he expected the thing to explode and Malfoy looking triumphant. "Have it your way, Draco," the woman said coldly, though something like regret was present in the premature lines surrounding her mouth and the downturn of her eyes.  
  
Malfoy flicked the piece of paper up between his fingers, holding it suspiciously like he intended to light the end on fire. With an overtly gracious smile he hefted himself up from the table, Percy nearly falling backwards with how heavily he had been leaning against the blond man. He scrambled to his feet as well and gave the woman a polite, if hurried, nod as Malfoy had already started off into the writhing crowd and Percy was loath to lose him.  
  
He only caught up to him outside and was greeted with a stoic nod from his blond companion. "Tomorrow, the ring," he said ominously, the _crack_ of Apparition that followed a rather fitting punctuation.  
  
Percy stared at the empty space of displaced air for a moment before throwing his head back and his chest out, composing himself, and Apparating back to his own apartment.  
  
He reached sleep belatedly, fitfully tossing and turning, before finally sinking into a heavy doze, the heat of Malfoy's hand still present like a brand upon his shoulder.

♕

The heat followed him well into the next morning and was still lingering when he Apparated to Little Hangleton, immediately spotting Malfoy leaning against a lamppost with his ubiquitous cigarette hanging from his lips. "We do this carefully, and you follow my lead," Malfoy said as Percy approached, his words cautious warnings imbued with gravity.  
  
Percy nodded agreeably, if a bit uncertainly, and followed Malfoy down a well-maintained dirt road. Rolling hills obscured most of the neighboring real estate, giving the area a rather isolated feel. The landscape was painted with a dense yet non-pervasive fog as it was just barely dawn and the newly risen sun was glinting off the dewdrops with a methodical determination.  
  
Percy wasn't sure how far they'd walked when they finally came upon what looked like a large pile of tinder. He spared it a cursory glance and was therefore surprised when Malfoy stopped and said with grandeur, "This is it."  
  
 _This is what?_ Percy wanted to ask, but held his tongue as Malfoy moved closer to the ruins, every step guarded and purposeful. While Malfoy walked, he spoke, singsong, under his breath as he kicked aside the rubble, " _As I went to Bonner, I met a pig without a wig, upon my word and honor_."  
  
Percy's shoulders tensed as he heard the words of the nursery rhyme, not for the first time. It was a song Malfoy's mother used to sing to him, before the Dark Lord had had her slaughtered while her son looked on helplessly. It was one of the first things that made Percy think of the man before him as human, not Death Eater. It was what began this entire sordid mess he was in with Malfoy. And it was something Malfoy reserved for moments of either intense nervousness or rightful wariness.  
  
The coldness of the situation seemed to hit him all at once, settling deeply into his bones. He stuck closer to Malfoy who now had his wand out and seemed to be studying the ground inquisitively. A somewhat advanced Hover charm fell from his lips and soon they were looking at stripped floorboards while flotsam floated about their midsections.  
  
Malfoy focused on a single board to the left of them and said, his voice lower than necessary considering they were the only two about for miles, "Gotcha."  
  
Percy raised an eyebrow prudishly as Malfoy drew his wand across his outstretched palm, blood dripping from the opening wound. "Blood?" Percy demanded squeamishly.  
  
Malfoy turned his puckish grin on him. "What's a Horcrux search without a bit of bloodshed?"  
  
Percy's lips thinned but the floorboard captured his gaze as something beneath it glowed a brilliant gold and the feeble oak began to crack right down the middle. This was the second Horcrux Malfoy had found and the words that came so often to mind surfaced now, _'Must you always be right,'_ as Percy took an awed step forward, the gaping wound in the center of the floor revealing a surprisingly drab stone ring. Malfoy caught him by the forearm and shook his head coolly. "Wards."  
  
"And how do you intend to secure it then?" Percy was the wards expert and he couldn't help but be a bit snide as he asked the question, having been kept from the one thing he could contribute in this awful war.  
  
"It's more complicated than that," Malfoy told him gently as he knelt down on the unbroken floorboards. Percy stared at him in consternation before reluctantly planting himself next to the blond man. The ring rose from the depths of the crawl space, hovering between them, and Percy was filled with the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it.  
  
He saw Malfoy rearrange himself to crush his free hand beneath his own foot while Percy secured his grabby paw beneath his knee. The blond man muttered an unfamiliar incantation, repeating it with perfect pronunciation three times. As the third left his lips the ring became encased in a pulsing sphere of magic, a physical representation of the wards criss-crossing it. Different pathways of light throbbed around it, dipping over and under its compatriots.  
  
"Whatever you recognize, dispel," Malfoy said gruffly. "The slightest insecurity, and you don't touch it."  
  
Percy would have pointed out, rather haughtily too, that he knew quite proficiently how to locate and neutralize a Horcrux - they had been studying the theory alone for months - but it seemed as if Malfoy had needed to say the words nearly as much as Percy had needed to hear them. Instead he swallowed and nodded, beginning to pick apart the sphere, chipping off its protection one ward at a time.  
  
Over three hours later, and after the consultation of two different texts, they had stripped away the last of the ring's defenses and Malfoy had felt confident enough to place it in his impenetrable pouch, lined with wards that even Percy wasn't familiar with.  
  
Percy could still see Malfoy's knitted brow as he bit his lip and scooped the still-levitating ring into the bag as they walked back to headquarters. They had been moving along at a nice clip, trying not to Apparate, despite the drizzling rain, as magic inevitably left traces but soon they were being bombarded with drops as hard as hail and were forced to retreat to an indented doorway for shelter.  
  
Malfoy's lips were blue as his dripping fingers reached into his coat pocket for his pack of cigarettes, so familiar that they had created a worn area on the fabric. "No hope for it now," Malfoy relayed, the ember igniting. "We'll have to report tomorrow."  
  
The light of the cigarette seemed to illuminate Malfoy's eyes, and again they appeared wolfish, and Percy was suddenly loath to leave him for the night but knew there was no other option. "Well," he started clumsily, "goodni—"  
  
"Drinks, at mine?" Malfoy cut him off, though his words were so unconcerned that it almost seemed as if he hadn't noticed what he'd done.  
  
"Yes."  
  
The word seemed to catch Percy off guard, and he realized _he_ had said it, embarrassingly quickly and noticeably eager. Malfoy had never invited Percy to see where he lived, despite the fact that they had been working together for nearly two years. But even that did not excuse the fact that he had not even considered saying no.  
  
Malfoy's half-smirk was self-assured and his silver eyes held a spark of mischief that Percy was not entirely sure he liked the looks of as the blond grabbed his hand and squeezed them out of existence.  
  
Percy seemed more out of breath than usual as he steadied himself against the back of an armchair, hunched over and taking deep gulps of air.   
  
He glanced around the unfamiliar territory once he'd regained his breath and found that it didn't look much unlike his own home: conservative and clean, monochrome, calm colors, but where he had frames upon frames decorating his mantle, Malfoy only had one large picture of his mother holding a fidgeting bundle of blond baby boy while she cooed to him.  
  
While Percy made his examination, Malfoy had lit another cigarette and grabbed two beers from the fridge. He motioned for Percy to follow him, which he did warily, and Percy realized he was taking them into the bedroom. His heart beat its way up to his throat, his breath short, and he began planning his polite, and undoubtedly desperate, refusal when Malfoy simply walked into an attached bathroom and threw a towel at his head.  
  
He couldn't keep his gaze from drifting toward the neatly made bed, covered in sheets of a brownish gold and looking far more inviting than any bed had the right to. He cleared his throat as Malfoy sat down on the edge of it, a towel around his shoulders, an open beer in his hand, and a lighted cigarette between his fingers. Smoke drifted up towards the ceiling, reminding Percy, not unpleasantly, of the Hogwarts Express.  
  
Malfoy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his head hanging feebly above his parted legs. It was the most defeated position Percy had ever seen him assume and he quelled the urge to go to him and--and _what?_  
  
He scowled to himself, there was nothing for him here but confusion and something he would never allow himself to have. He knew his cheeks were a rather embarrassing shade of pink but he still fumbled for Malfoy's attention, needing to leave while he still had the willpower and the inclination.  
  
He stayed his rather meager attempts when Malfoy looked up at him, eyes dull, and stated, "Long day, eh?"  
  
Percy could handle this, small talk, it was practically a second language at the Ministry. He nodded sagely as he walked over to the bed and sat down next to Malfoy.  
  
"You want?" the blond asked, holding his cigarette between two pale fingers.  
  
Percy had been rather enamored of the habit as this growing attraction continued to plague him. It made Malfoy seem mysterious and filled Percy's mind with thoughts of more sensual dealings while they spoke, often wondering how it would taste on Malfoy's tongue or what other objects could fill Malfoy's mouth.  
  
These thoughts danced about him but all Percy said was a rather banal, "I don't smoke."  
  
Malfoy smiled at him, rather tight and forced Percy noticed at second glance. "Doesn't mean you can't."  
  
Percy took the cigarette from Malfoy's hand, letting their fingers slide against one another's unnecessarily long and drew the stick up to his mouth, inhaling a thick plume of smoke into his mouth and exhaling it on the next breath.  
  
Malfoy grinned at him and instructed with amusement, "Take it into your lungs."  
  
Percy tried again, inhaling deeply, holding it inside, a bit coming out his nose as he accidentally breathed out before he lost the fight with the tickle in the back of his throat and coughed. Sputtering, his exhale went back toward him, and he could practically feel the smell of the acrid smoke sink into his clothes, bonding with the molecules so that he would smell like cigarette smoke for the rest of eternity.  
  
Malfoy took the cigarette back agreeably as Percy held it as far away from himself as possible, his throat burning slightly and his limbs feeling limp and dizzied. "Charming," Malfoy announced, eyebrow perked and looking inquisitively at Percy.  
  
Percy rolled his eyes, feeling as if he had just been assaulted by the "sexy," death-inducing habit as he continued to pound on his chest. Malfoy turned around and crushed the cigarette in an ashtray on his bedside table, Percy getting a stab of vindictive pleasure watching it being ground into the plastic.  
  
Percy stared down at his shoes as Malfoy swiveled back, groping for conversation topics, anything to fill the awkward silence that was settling over both of them like a heavy pall.  
  
Malfoy was staring at him, Percy could feel it, and was oddly infuriated by it. Malfoy clearly wasn't having the same difficulties, and Percy glanced up to tell him exactly how unfair that was when he was grabbed by the back of the neck and hauled forward onto soft, pliant lips.  
  
Malfoy had leaned back and suddenly Percy was nearly on top of him, his tongue plundering that smirking mouth as though it was the only thing he was ever meant to do while the pungent sweet taste of cigarette ash invaded his senses. His glasses came between them and without opening his eyes or shifting his position, he tore them off his face and flung them somewhere on the other side of the bed.  
  
Malfoy's legs were coming up to frame his hips and Percy's hands were pushing up the blond's shirt, eager to get to the skin beneath, with a mind of their own. Their kiss had a twisted kind of passion that seemed to grow in both bitterness and desperation as Malfoy's hands climbed up his back, and Percy's tongue mapped his mouth.  
  
As their movements grew in intensity, Percy lost himself further and further into the haven of Malfoy's mouth. It wasn't until the blond came up with the unprecedented and shiver-inducing push of his hips against Percy's that he tore his mouth away and twisted out of reach.   
  
"What are you _doing?_ " he demanded, voice shaking but still unmercifully harsh. It was easier to blame Malfoy for his loss of control than himself and he had no qualms about doing so.  
  
Malfoy looked up at him, debauched, eyes glassy, and pulled him down against his mouth. "Percy," he breathed out against his lips and Percy lunged for him, no thought permeating the haze surrounding his mind but the urge to defile Malfoy. To thank him for seeing him, to thank him for giving him the gift of his own name.  
  
There were no more questions for it now, nothing to slow them, no way for Percy to claim temporary insanity and leave the room. He was being taken inside of Malfoy with a slow slide of lips until his rational mind ceased to exist and he was nothing but a personification of lust and _need_ , until his hands and mouth and hips were moving in concert, seeking what they needed as if the entire scene were familiar.  
  
He would have expected anxiety, he would have expected fear, what he did not expect was the inherent skill he seemed to have. This was something he had not even allowed himself to fantasize, Malfoy beneath him, writhing against him, tearing into his mouth, and yet he handled it with practiced ease rather than flighty inconsistency. He was nothing if not a man with a plan, but not only was he blinded to what would come next, he found a secret thrill in the lack of control.   
  
Malfoy's hands had found the zip of his pants and were struggling to - what looked like - tear it off completely. Percy was tempted to stop him, if only to save his trousers, but he was too enthralled with watching Malfoy as he shimmied off his own slacks with the use of his hips and feet. He had gotten them down around his thighs while Percy helped to push his own just past the swell of his arse when Malfoy's hand lashed out and wrapped around Percy's cock, squeezing, his eyes uncharacteristically dark.  
  
Percy groaned at the constricting sensation and let his forehead fall forward onto Malfoy's shoulder, a vague voice in the back of his head wondering how he was going to be able to justify this to himself tomorrow. Breaths panted hotly over his ear as Malfoy demanded, "Now," pumping Percy's cock with fevered strokes.  
  
Malfoy pulled him closer until Percy was unable to miss his meaning. And he froze.  
  
This meant something, didn't it? Changed everything. Malfoy was no longer a formless attraction but a distinct possibility, and Percy was no longer dabbling in homoeroticism, this would make him gay, wouldn't it? Or did the fact that he wanted this more than he could ever remember wanting anything, his job, his wand, Penelope, did that make him gay in itself?   
  
A wet lick to his earlobe shocked him back to reality, that and Malfoy's thighs riveting his hips and his pale hands gripping his shoulders.  
  
Percy swallowed heavily. "Won't it—"  
  
Malfoy's eyes flashed and he answered the unfinished question in a husky sort of voice, "Oh, it'll hurt." And Percy realized he wanted it to hurt, maybe even in some faint part of him, he _needed_ it to hurt, needed to carry around the act for days afterward. Percy was oddly touched by that thought and pressed his mouth to Malfoy's sloppily for a brief moment, feeling the curve of amused lips against his own.  
  
The thought that he wouldn't be able to let Malfoy go now flashed across his brain, but he squashed it flat citing this as neither the time nor the place. There were no more inquiries, no more hesitations, just the measured slide into a delicious, slick heat that seemed to welcome him with open arms.  
  
Malfoy's head fell to the side as he scrunched his eyes and hissed through gritted teeth, "Fuck." His fingers were like claws in Percy's biceps and he forced his hand under Malfoy's chin, directing his gaze back to meet his own.  
  
Their coupling was hard and fast. It wasn't love-making as it had been with Penny, it was an intense and concentrated fuck. All pistoning hips, bruising hands, and soul-sucking lips. This was what it was like to have true chemistry with someone, to not only want them but to not know how you've lived without them. And all Percy was thinking of as he rolled off of Malfoy, sweaty and beaten, pants around his ankles, shirt twisted up around his armpits, was _next time_.

  
♕   


Awkward.  
  
Awkward was the word that best described their current situation as they sipped coffee in Malfoy's kitchen and pretended they had not just had a bout of rather wicked and relationship-altering sex. Awkward was the definition of Malfoy's expression when he had woken Percy, fully dressed, bed cold, and told him in a bark that they should leave for the warehouse in an hour.  
  
Percy sighed into his coffee cup, perhaps the physical aspect of their relationship was ephemeral but the way he felt for Malfoy had only grown and mutated with the ultimate culmination of his inconsistent desires. He had gotten what he had told himself repeatedly he did not want and, though he had stalled on the thought for a moment last night that this would change everything, he hadn't cared. Worse yet, he still didn't care.  
  
It hadn't been a mistake. Certainly he was disappointed that Malfoy seemed so distant but he wouldn't write it off, dismiss it as insignificant, despite the temptation to. He followed Malfoy out of his modest apartment and they walked in silence to the warehouse, Percy trailing along like an unwanted stray, lost in thought.  
  
Malfoy stopped before the door, turned on his heel, grabbed Percy's wrist and pulled him in close. He brushed their lips together in a not-quite-kiss while Percy's eyes widened behind his reclaimed spectacles. The blond pulled away and jammed his hands into his pockets. "You. It's just you," he said hoarsely, his head down and his gaze shadowed.  
  
In the next instant, he had spat the password, pushed open the door, and left Percy alone on the steps wondering what the hell had just happened, and what Malfoy had meant by it.  
  
Percy walked inside in a daze, spotting the ring on the table and Malfoy leaning against one of the supports looking bored. Percy couldn't help but undress him as he stretched himself out languidly, his pose entirely nonchalant. He frowned as he realized he didn't have a complete picture, neither one of them had managed to undress completely. He just barely caught, and stomped, the thought: _yet_.  
  
Potter looked up at Malfoy, his smile more of a grimace. "Well done then, Malfoy."  
  
Malfoy sneered at him and said in a mockingly Gryffindor tone, "Oh, it was a team effort, _Harry_."  
  
Potter shuddered and bared his teeth, his muscles tight. "The diadem was destroyed in the Fiendfyre," Malfoy didn't so much as blink, "and we've got the cup and the ring thanks to last night's successes," Percy colored slightly at that, "with no way to destroy them. And Snape poisoned the snake."  
  
"Snape?" Malfoy said, eyes narrowed.  
  
Potter clenched his jaw, as though despite Snape's most recent actions he still detested the man. Which was undoubtedly true. "We have a job for you," he said instead.  
  
Malfoy nodded coolly and Percy altered his stance to seem more battle-ready.  
  
"Sturgis Podmore," Potter said succinctly, leveling his gaze on Malfoy. "Your father had him under Imperius and despite evidence of his innocence, the Ministry has refused to release him. We want you to break him out."  
  
Percy had expected Malfoy to balk, to point out the impossibility of it, to bristle at Potter's dig at the Ministry - as Percy would have - but all he said was, "When?"  
  
"Tonight, as soon as possible," Potter said, his eyes glinting in the low light of the warehouse. And how had Percy never realized how green they were before now, how _Slytherin_. Malfoy pushed off the column and Percy led the way to the door when Potter called, "Malfoy, wait up a second," waving Percy on.  
  
Percy frowned and made for the exit, his eyebrows nearly touching with how scrunched his forehead had become. Despite knowing better, he had been relishing the moment when he finally got Malfoy alone, intending to force him to explain what he'd meant at the door. If he was still interested and what Percy planned to do if he was - which was still unknown. He felt a stab of anger toward Potter that was not entirely warranted and shook his head to chastise himself when he heard the word, "—Horcrux," leave Potter's lips.  
  
Interest piqued, Percy ducked behind one of the steel girders and watched Potter watching Malfoy. Malfoy had his hip resting against the table, his arms crossed over his chest, facing the door with his head down and his eyes closed. Potter was to the left of him facing the opposite direction with his head bowed over the table, his eyes darting to Malfoy and his hands splayed apart on either side of him.  
  
Malfoy raised his head, pulled a familiar piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Potter. His eyes focused on his nails while Potter stared, unseeing, at the slip of paper. "This is for me then," Potter spat bitterly, crushing the paper in his fist and slamming it down on the counter. He turned to Malfoy, as if he intended to stare him down.  
  
Malfoy shrugged slightly, still not looking at Potter. "It's going to happen anyway, why delay the inevitable?"  
  
"Is it even possible," Potter croaked, sounding almost desperate for a contradiction. "More than one?"  
  
"Anything's possible, Potter," Malfoy said slowly, his eyes coming up to meet Potter's over the ridge of his glasses, something deeper in both their gazes, a softening from Malfoy's and a hardening in Potter's.  
  
Potter exhaled loudly through his nose, a perspicacious sort of noise, while Malfoy brushed imaginary lint from his elbow with his fingertips. Potter glanced up at him, seemingly discomfited by the sound of skin brushing fabric and his hand whipped out to cover Malfoy's. His thumb brushed back and forth over Malfoy's palm as he held the hand steady, still.  
  
Malfoy's eyes had widened but he made no move to pull away and Potter swallowed, his body tense and stilted as he moved closer to the immobile blond. His free hand came up to frame Malfoy's shoulder, his head tilting slightly, leaning closer to Malfoy's cheek and Percy realized all at once that Potter meant to kiss him.  
  
Malfoy grabbed Potter by the wrist and twisted out of his grip. "Podmore, then. Weasley and I will go tonight," Malfoy said, his inflection poised while Potter's shoulders dropped a little and he nodded with a defeated air.  
  
Malfoy placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, a quiet reassurance. Potter turned to face him, looking guarded but grateful, however the blond was already walking toward Percy with an easy gait, slipping his hand into his coat pocket and pulling out his lighter and cigarette.  
  
He nodded to Percy as he passed, his eyes noting his crouched position and his cover with an amused light while he fumbled with his lighter. Percy stumbled after him, self-conscious, yet ambulatory enough not to be seen by Potter.  
  
Malfoy had waited for him beside the door, his cigarette lit and puffing away steadily, the clouds of smoke dispersing ethereally.  
  
"Shall we?" Malfoy garbled as he spoke around his cigarette.  
  
Percy glanced at him in surprise, it seemed as if they had oceans to discuss, the previous night, Malfoy's kiss, Potter's advances, what the hell any of it meant for them, but he swallowed down those topics and instead insisted, "It seems as if a plan were in order."  
  
Malfoy's posture seemed to frost and he ashed his cigarette with very deliberate taps. "What do we owe the Ministry?" he asked with rancor.  
  
Percy compressed his lips, feeling the remark hit him squarely between the ribs. There was nothing for this, he felt like throwing up his hands in defeat. What had changed between them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
  
"I owe the Ministry my livelihood," he answered finally, briskly.  
  
Malfoy was oddly still for a moment before straightening his back restively, as if preparing for a fight. He took a deep breath in, smoke pouring from his nostrils as he spoke in a distinctly defensive tone, "The Ministry, who are right now weighing the pros and cons of abandoning Potter as their chosen one and considering signing with Voldemort?"  
  
Hearing Malfoy mention Potter dug at Percy's chest, ice shoveling into his lungs, and he had to force himself to bypass the word while Malfoy's voice barreled on, unheeding, "The Ministry who so graciously imprisoned members of the Order? The Ministry who, right now, are planning the capture and subsequent murder of Severus Snape?" His voice dropped to subzero temperatures with a listing hiss, "The Ministry who could have saved your brothers?"  
  
Percy took an involuntary step back, feeling as if Malfoy had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart with a cruel fist. "What are you—"  
  
A breathless drag on his cigarette preempted his acidic, "They made a contingency plan. It didn't fit the numbers."  
  
Percy's mouth twisted in anger and accusation. "They wouldn't have left them to burn to death," he argued, despising Malfoy for bringing this to the surface once again, for making him question the only organization he had ever wanted to be a part of.  
  
The sky around them had darkened as dusk settled and Percy watched the blond man coldly as his lighted cigarette became more and more of a beacon.  
  
"Ever wonder why the Aurors responded so quickly?" Malfoy countered after a significant lull. "They were already there, watching the flames. Voldemort used their Wheeze's products, knowingly or not, and the Minister made an assessment of the situation and whittled his options down to two definitive choices." Malfoy paused to reload, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. "Either sate the fire and bring the two in for questioning or let it burn and save the taxpayers a bit of gold." Malfoy grimaced. "I believe we both know how that turned out."  
  
Percy narrowed his eyes, feeling petulant and childish. "I don't believe you." The words lacked a certain confidence and almost seemed to welcome contradiction.  
  
Malfoy shrugged, uncaring, and his voice niggled against Percy's common sense as he posed the question, "Ask yourself, who has more to gain from the lie: me or the Ministry?"  
  
Percy's fingers folded into his palms, digging in deep. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
Malfoy looked at him, a deeper, more probing sort of gaze than Percy had ever received. In recent years, Percy had begun to think he wasn't worthy of consideration of such magnitude, just a spot on an otherwise pristine wall. Even Penny, who was his first love - and he, hers - had never looked upon him with such careful scrutiny, as if she were afraid she'd find that he was, indeed, just another Weasley.  
  
Malfoy quietly pinched his cigarette between two fingers and pursed his lips. "Because you deserve better than being their errand boy," he said finally, his eyes still silver pools. "They're nothing to be proud of, Weasley. Just dirty men looking for the easiest outs."  
  
Percy was silent in the wake of Malfoy's declaration. Only moments ago, he would have bristled at having his position belittled, trivialized, but it wasn't a taunt. And maybe it never had been. Because Malfoy saw him. "Not all of them," he whispered diffidently.  
  
Malfoy looked away from him, at something distant and unknowable. "Perhaps," he yielded after a pause. "But I think those at the top have proven quite thoroughly what a man's soul costs. Corruption isn't inherent, Weasley, any man is capable of it." His cigarette extinguished as it dropped to the pavement and he turned hooded eyes on Percy. "You'd do well to remember that."  
  
Malfoy grabbed Percy's wrist in tobacco-stained fingers and whirled them away from the sodden streets of London, Percy's gaze refocusing on a sea-sprayed cliff face. Malfoy had Apparated them in front of a large portion of solid wall, the black granite of Azkaban looming over them with an intimidating leer.  
  
Malfoy had crouched down, his eyes seeming cold, and his mouth twitched sourly. Percy followed his gaze to a single yellow daisy growing from the base of the stone. "Mocking, isn't it?" Malfoy sneered and Percy retrained his gaze to realize the blond man was gauging him.  
  
He shook his head innocently. "I don't think so. Lends credence to 'there's beauty in everything.'"  
  
Malfoy gave an exaggerated laugh that seemed to belt up from his diaphragm. "That's the difference between us, Weasley. There's always a silver lining for you, isn't there?" He withdrew his wand from his coat pocket followed by three, seemingly ordinary, gray stones. He was still sullenly amused when he challenged, "Where's the beauty in death, where's the beauty in Voldemort?"  
  
Percy drew himself up angrily. Finally seeing Malfoy for the petty and despair-peddling man he was. "And that's the problem with you, Malfoy," he accused, voice shaking. "You only see the raincloud, because that's all you'll ever look for. Perhaps you may be right more often than I am, but I'm happier than you'll ever be." He took a deep breath and said forcefully, "My mother's death, that was a beautiful death. And the beauty in Voldemort is that for all the devastation he's brought, he's also brought out our champions, our heroes, our future, my _purpose_."  
  
Malfoy was cradling the stones now, fitting them against the indents in the wall before drawing a circuitous line between them with his wand. The line glowed a visible orange for a moment before Malfoy turned back to Percy, squinting, and asked, genuinely probing, "And the fact that your purpose has been built upon his deaths never weighs upon your mind?"  
  
Percy watched Malfoy tap the center of the ring twice before he answered, shaking his head, the pall of defeat settling on his shoulders. It wasn't that he thought himself wrong, just that he realized he would never get through to Malfoy. "I'll always see the lighter side of things and you'll always wallow in the dark. Just remember that you're the one who imprisons yourself there. There's only so much you can blame on Voldemort."  
  
He swallowed and added, "When Potter defeats him - and he _will_ defeat him - when life resumes, what will you have to go back to, Malfoy? Where do you fit in amongst a world that's bathed in light?" A stone of guilt settled in Percy's abdomen as he said the words but he was glad to have said it, despite the effect it might have had. It had needed to be said.  
  
But Malfoy only snorted softly, perspicaciously, and whispered, so quietly that Percy wasn't sure if he was meant to hear or not, "I don't, Weasley. I don't."  
  
Malfoy pushed against the two outside stones and the ring glowed faintly blue this time as the entire piece of wall, stone, glow, and all was moved inward. The cracks in the rock were silent as it broke away from its support and Malfoy, pushing forward, crawled into the neat incision he had made in the crag, directly into a prison cell.  
  
Percy followed him on hands and knees. "He'll need help," Malfoy was saying as he pointed to the far end of the cell, where a grey lump was curled up in the corner. The lump unraveled, stretching and growing as limbs made themselves known, until it resembled that of a man with a long beard and wild looking eyes.  
  
His prison uniform all but hung from his emaciated frame and Malfoy held out a hand to a chewed up twin. They clasped together and Malfoy steadily hauled the man to his feet, while his eyes began to clear of paranoia and chill. Percy grabbed the man - Sturgis Podmore, he had to assume - gingerly under his elbow and helped lead him to the recently made hole.  
  
Malfoy caught his eye and gave a finite shake of his head. "I say we take the front door," he said, with definite mischief lurking in the corners of his mouth. The long-disused cheeky grin nearing the surface.  
  
Percy rearranged his grip on the frail man's arm while he contemplated Malfoy's implication. The blond certainly seemed to have a vendetta against the Ministry, and if Percy could believe his words from earlier then there was no reason to stop him. If they were truly the murderers responsible for Fred and Georges' deaths, then he deserved his bits of revenge wherever he could get them.  
  
If he believed Malfoy, that was.  
  
"You and your eye-catching exits." Percy's lips twisted, feeling a rather vindictive urge grab hold of him as the freshly opened wounds of his family's death throbbed. Perhaps the Ministry wasn't at fault, perhaps Malfoy was lying - or simply wrong - but, right now, all Percy wanted was vengeance, rightfully allocated or not. "I suppose I couldn't deny you the pleasure."  
  
Malfoy's grin held just a tinge of madness and smoke seemed to breathe from him, seep from his clothes, his mouth, his hair, to wrap around the bars of Podmore's cell.  
  
"Smoke?" Percy inquired, his eyebrow perked. He had never seen a spell like the one Malfoy'd performed and he couldn't pretend not to be a bit fascinated by the appearance of it.  
  
"Smoke permeates," Malfoy answered, as a moment later, where there had once been bars, there was now empty space.  
  
"Lingers," Percy added absently, though he was not entirely sure he was talking about the smoke. He watched as Malfoy led Podmore from the cell with slow, cautious movements and caught himself wondering what the hell he was thinking.  
  
The Ministry was his life, and had been since his fifth year of Hogwarts when he was called into McGonagall's office to discuss his career path, and yet he was impetuously destroying everything he had ever believed in for Malfoy, crushing his--his _religion_ for this man.  
  
The thought _'I think I'm in love with you'_ flashed across his mind as he watched Malfoy's retreating back. And nothing - nothing - could convince Percy to utter those words. He didn't even know why he was thinking them, now was not the time, nor should they have even been in his brain at all. They had had one night together, in which nothing was resolved, none of their differences had disappeared nor had the sting of them lessened. It made no sense to feel what he was feeling and, therefore, there was no other choice but to dismiss it.  
  
He shook his thoughts off with a visible tremor and followed behind Malfoy with hurried movements, catching up just in time to see Malfoy blast the remaining guard with a weakened _Reducto_ , sending him flying back into the wall behind the welcome desk.  
  
He was reveling in his cruelty, and Percy knew it without having to see his face. The war had changed him, or perhaps he'd always been this way, it wasn't as though he and Percy had once been great friends, there was nothing but this twisted battle between them and they just happened to be on the same side. And even that had been a close call, didn't Malfoy still carry around the evidence of his brush with Voldemort on his forearm, branded for all the world to see?  
  
There was no excuse for the emotions that were churning about inside of him. Malfoy was just this side of human with no relatable charms.  
  
But that wasn't really true, was it? He had seen Malfoy at his weakest, at his most human, hadn't he? After he'd lost his Mum, a pain they'd both shared and mourned equally. _As I went to Bonner, I met a pig without a wig, upon my word on honor._ No, Percy had seen more of Malfoy than he'd ever intended, and perhaps if he hadn't then he could convince himself that it was truly unwise to feel anything for him.  
  
But, as it was, he had seen Malfoy, the man - Malfoy, the _good_ man - and there was no denying that.  
  
They were outside in the sea-salty air before Percy realized it and Malfoy was speaking in a low voice to Podmore, being assured that yes, the man was well enough to Apparate now that he had his wand and yes, he would Apparate straight to Pomfrey at Hogwarts.  
  
He and Percy exchanged a solemn nod that spoke oceans of gratitude before Podmore raised his wand and Disapparated, leaving he and Malfoy alone on a deserted isle.  
  
Malfoy walked up next to him, stopping unnaturally still while the sounds of the waves pounding the cliff face beat below them like an uncertain soundtrack. His hand closest to Percy dropped to his side limply as he lighted and puffed on a cigarette, the other jammed tightly in his coat pocket.  
  
And, suddenly, there was no need for words, questions, or confirmations. The war was bearing down upon them, its arrival imminent, the Horcruxes either collected or destroyed, and the time they had left wasn't meant to be peppered with insecurity or doubts. There was just the silent, secretive slipping of Percy's hand into Malfoy's lifeless fingers. A wordless 'yes.' And the tight squeeze of their cold hands before Malfoy Apparated them back to his apartment.  
  
They were already devouring one another's mouths as their feet planted and Percy backed them into the door. He ground against Malfoy's hips, losing himself in the heat that was building between them, having lost all thought back on the crag when Malfoy's fingers had curled around his. He could still feel them there even as they slid up his back and tangled in his hair.  
  
Malfoy pulled him around and bent him over the sofa's arm, fumbling with his trousers. Malfoy took him right there, passion-strained and hungry, panting hard and heavy against his back, laughing, "It's the quiet ones, you know?"  
  
He pulled out, leaving a regrettable emptiness and Percy realized, his shirt sticking to him in odd places, that they had once again not managed to undress fully. He pulled up his pants while Malfoy did the same, the blond man taking off his shirt as he walked to the kitchen.  
  
Percy caught up to him and spun him around, wanting to know what he looked like naked and having to piece it together as he was presented with each stretch of skin separately. He ran his fingers down Malfoy's pale, toned chest, the tips of them bumping and caressing each time they reached a pearled white scar, the majority of which seemed to criss-cross his torso.  
  
Percy frowned slightly even while he reveled in how close they were standing. "How—"  
  
"Potter," Malfoy interrupted, a sick curl to his lips.  
  
Percy's fingers stilled. Hadn't Malfoy chosen him back at the warehouse, he'd rebuffed Potter's advances, hadn't he? A horrible thought dawned, unless he had changed his mind after having him. Had Percy not been… good? What if he'd done it wrong, not participated enough, or been too eager, or come too quickly?  
  
Malfoy's hand dropped to cover his and he said, almost as if there were a lump in his throat, "If not for Severus Snape, I'd be dead."  
  
"Potter gave you the scars," Percy blurted, hardly daring to believe it. Malfoy nodded and Percy drew him closer until his chin was resting on the blond's shoulder and his breath was ghosting over the fine hairs on Malfoy's neck while he wondered where he would be right now if Malfoy had died that day.  
  
 _Funny how tenuous life is_ , he thought as he watched the breeze of his exhalations ripple across Malfoy's neck.  
  
"I don't think 'funny' is the word I'd u _s_ e," Malfoy responded cleanly, the 's' drawn out, sibilant, sounding suspiciously like Snape's manner of speaking, as if their conversation had drawn his control of Malfoy's tongue.  
  
Apparently Percy had said that aloud. He felt warm in the knowledge that Malfoy hadn't jeered at him or taunted him and felt a smile breaking out over his lips, like the sun behind a bank of clouds. He generally kept those sorts of thoughts to himself, not wanting his words to be thought of as inane, or stuffy, or, worse yet, insignificant.  
  
Malfoy lingered in his embrace for only a few more moments before walking to the kitchen and banging about while Percy dropped heavily onto the couch that he had only moments before been thrown over and fucked rigorously upon.  
  
He must have dozed lightly as he came around to the smell of something burning and the melodious sound of metal clanging. He sniggered and hauled himself up off the sofa to see Malfoy staring at a blackened thing in the middle of a frying pan.  
  
Percy stepped up next to him and said kindly, "That looks… inedible."  
  
Malfoy seemed to have only just noticed he was there and said distractedly as he hefted the charred invention into the trash, "It's the act of creation far more than the outcome."  
  
Percy waited for Malfoy to throw the pan into the sink before wrapping his arms around the blond's waist and placing his nose behind the man's ear. "Luckily for you," he responded tenderly, tired of fighting this attraction to Malfoy, deciding to ride it out, no matter what hellhole that happened to leave him washed up in. He nuzzled the soft skin behind Malfoy's ear and said tiredly, "Can we go to bed?"  
  
It was after Malfoy had brought him off with his mouth and the blond looked to be nearing sleep that Percy wondered aloud, "Do you think Potter will finish it? Do you think he's really the wizarding world's hero?"  
  
Malfoy rolled over to watch him with a shrewd eye and only after apparently deciding that yes, Percy was serious and yes, his question was valid did he say, " _Everyone_ gets to be the hero, Percy."  
  
Percy shivered slightly as Malfoy said his name. He loved the way it sounded when it came from those lips. 'Percy' always drew thoughts of an outdated little boy who'd rather play with a Muggle calculator than a broomstick - in that, he'd always felt pigeonholed from birth - but with Malfoy's drawl, the name sounded almost imperial, stately even.  
  
"If you think of your life as a story," Malfoy continued, expounding, "you'll see that one gets to play every role; antagonist, mysterious stranger, red herring, protagonist, etcetera."  
  
Percy's lips quirked in a smirk, vaguely curious as to when the last time he'd felt this happy had been. "Do you actually believe all this shit you spew?" he asked gullibly, pinning Malfoy with a stare.  
  
Malfoy just half-smiled in an enigmatic way and Percy knew that was all the answer he'd get. And, somehow, he found he didn't care to know, not really.  
  
"Everyone gets to be the hero," he repeated wistfully. He rather liked Malfoy's crude summary of life. It was something he felt he could live by, or at least appreciate living by. He wondered if Malfoy actually did live the way he claimed or simply aspired to. Either way, he found it an admirable thing.  
  
Malfoy's hand twirled above them as if he intended to pluck his words from thin air. "We're all our own greatest enemies and our own bravest champions. When our story ends we only have to hope that we've played all the right parts."  
  
Percy rested his chin on his propped up hand, gazing intently at Malfoy. "Do you think you have?"  
  
Instead of answering, Malfoy leaned forward and captured Percy's lips in a soft kiss. Or, perhaps, in his own way, that was his answer.

♕

Malfoy crouched low on the battlefield, blood staining the grass next to his fingers as he plucked a single, untouched dandelion from its resting place.  
  
His liquid silver eyes met Percy's and his mouth hitched on a tilted smile. "My father always said they were weeds. He'd rip them from the ground and crush them in his palm while I watched, completely devastated though trying to hide it." He pinched the stem between his first two fingers and his crooked smile widened. "I suppose there's a first time for everything."  
  
He blew softly, the seeds drifting off to tickle Percy's nose until he was forced to rub his palm over it, and all the while Malfoy's eyes danced as more and more seeds floated away. He dropped the spent stem at his feet, his gaze bobbing after the liberated future dandelions with a curious brightness.  
  
"Careful," Percy teased, though the last thing he felt was teasing, he supposed if he had to pinpoint it, it would be nauseous. Their parting felt final and Percy wanted nothing more than to prolong the moment until the war was over, and the parting was moot altogether. He beat a tired smile on his face. "You almost looked happy for a moment."  
  
Malfoy turned to him with another of his searching looks and said quietly, "Percy." Malfoy paused and Percy nodded for him to continue, his heart in his throat. Malfoy turned away and looked out at the far off treetops, saying reflectively, his voice soft and ever so slightly longing, "I do. I do think I've played all the right characters now."  
  
He turned back to Percy with a brilliant smile held entirely in his eyes before he was gone, just like that, running back up to meet Potter. To finish it.  
  
Malfoy had explained it last night, the woman at the bar - Pansy - had given him the recipe for the death of a Horcrux. Potter would call the last pieces of Voldemort's soul to himself - where the final piece resided - and then Malfoy would finish him. And, somehow, Percy had known, somewhere where his deeper, darker thoughts dwelled, that Potter was never meant to survive this war. Despite the unfairness of it all, despite the fact that he had never truly lived, he was going to die for them.  
  
And even as these thoughts of untimely, undeserved deaths swirled about his brain, all Percy was left with was an odd sort of calm, knowing that Malfoy's last comment had referred to him, that, without Percy, his cast of characters would never have been completed. And he didn't know of a better way for Malfoy to tell him he loved him.  
  
Percy was ragged by the time he reached Malfoy and Potter, though it hadn't been his intention - at least, consciously - to end up there. He had gone where Rowle had led him, the man finally resting wasted beneath him. While Voldemort was lying at Potter's feet, his physical form destroyed. Potter's jaw was clenched and his face was grim as he rolled his holly wand in his palm. "Malfoy," he barked. "Get ready."  
  
Malfoy, to Percy's - and evidently, Potter's - surprise, threw his head back and laughed. A hoarse and beaten sound. He shook his head slowly. "It was never meant for you, Potter," he said coldly, pointing his wand at Potter's chest. " _Stupefy_."  
  
And the knowledge of what Malfoy was doing slammed home as he knelt over Potter and grabbed the back of his neck, unfamiliar Latin falling from his lips as he called the last remnants of Voldemort's soul into him.  
  
"No, Draco, what are you—" Percy heard himself croak as the blond righted himself. Percy didn't think he'd ever seen him stand so tall. And Draco. He had called him Draco. Surely that meant something?  
  
Malfoy grinned at him, the rakish grin Percy remembered from that night under the streetlamp, when he had grabbed Percy's hand and asked him to dance. "My last character role," he said smartly. "Everyone gets to be the hero, right? I'm embracing my moment." His grin widened and he admitted, "I guess I have fallen for my own lines."  
  
He raised his wand to his temple and everything Percy wanted to say crammed itself into his mouth at once but, heedless of Percy's desperation, Malfoy only smiled, a sadness tugging at the corners, threatening to turn it into a frown, and said readily, as if he had come to terms with the destiny he had created for himself, " _Avada Kedavra_."  
  
Percy closed his eyes, refusing to let a blast of green light be the only thing he remembered of them. He supposed, in his own way, he would embrace their moment. Short-lived as it had been, it was no less magical.

♕

Percy dragged his feet up the stage's steps, an intense spotlight following his every movement as he tugged a creased and re-creased piece of paper from the inside pocket of Malfoy's coat, the worn area from his unfinished cigarette pack, still untouched, was more than overtly present in this room full of over-dressed Ministry drones. He shuffled over to the podium and cleared his throat.  
  
"Draco Malfoy," Percy said, his voice shaking as tremulously as his fingers shook the paper of his 'Ministry-approved' speech, as wayward as a leaf in the wind. Percy heaved a great sigh and the paper fell to the podium soundlessly, forgotten. The words he was meant to say, the words that seemed to push up from his diaphragm and out his throat, through his lips, sailed into his consciousness as simply as a rowboat on restless waves. He looked out upon the sea of washed-out faces, their painted on features as phony as the airs they sought to project and cleared his throat mightily, the sound echoing in the din of mutters and polite noises of encouragement. "Draco Malfoy," Percy said again, the name sticking in his throat the way it stuck in his mind, "tonight you seek to honor his name."  
  
"For some of you it is a name that still causes your noses to lift in condescension and your lips to curl in disdain," he paused for a moment to watch the discomfited shifting in the stiff, upper chairs as the comment landed, "for others it is a promise, an unprecedented title that has led to an unprecedented event, the deviation from what was expected, the ability to _change_ one's destiny. So tonight, you honor his name, some of you with false cheer and others of you with adulation."  
  
"Tonight," Percy repeated, "you honor a name while the man behind it slips from your memories, even as you sip your wine and pretend to care for someone that none of you would have lifted a finger to help, he is already being eased from your minds, erased as nothing more than an insignificant stain, nothing but an address to be stamped down upon your history books, to be droned about in monotonous tones, to be nothing more than a passing remark in an endless stream of jargon." Percy lowered his head, a snort of disgust tearing from him. He looked up, his eyes shining and his voice as sharp as a razorblade, "The injustice of it all cuts at me, rends me in two, tears me asunder, but I have learned to expect nothing less from my _gracious_ Ministry."  
  
"Tonight," Percy trembled, "I honor the man behind that name. The man that loved to cook for the simple act rather than the product, which resembled char more than anything else, the man who was more dogged than any spy had the right to be, and the man who was imperfect but all the more resilient for it."  
  
Percy pursed his lips and bowed his head. "It was behind closed doors that Draco became what he sought to hide from the rest of the world: human. He bestowed upon me the burden of witnessing that, of witnessing _him_ at his weakest, at his most _real_. And, in turn, he is the only person who has ever seen me. Most of you, perhaps all of you, look up at this podium and are hard-pressed to see past the freckles and red hair - hard-pressed to recognize me as anything other than a Weasley, hard-pressed to see anything other than a stickler for the rules, or a rather blustering and prideful boy with a position that, once, genuinely enthralled him. Draco looked at me and saw Percy, nothing more and nothing less. He laid me bare with a single glance and rebuilt me with a soft smile in the same moment."  
  
Percy made himself face them, his sea of onlookers, as his mouth wrapped around the words his mind had no need to grope for. "Perhaps that is the hardest loss of all, that while his name is exalted, the man forgot, he has taken my name with him and I stand before you now, incomplete."  
  
Percy swiped futilely at his eyes, wondering at what point the world around him had begun to blur and how he had missed the crucial change. His throat stuttered and his adam's apple bobbed tirelessly. He clutched at the edges of the podium, his knuckles white and his fingers claw-like. "I will not stand here and claim," he began hoarsely, "that Draco entirely escaped his upbringing, or that he was without fault. As pretty as those lies sound, I know Draco would not have stood for them. So I will only tell you this: Draco Malfoy was flawed and broken, right up to and past the moment you seek to laud him for tonight, but, to me, he was perfect."  
  
One of Percy's hands unwrapped itself from the podium and groped for his tumbler with a too-tight grip, his palm making a squeaking noise as it rasped against the glass. "And while we raise our glasses to different people, to different moments, to different virtues, we extol the same name and I will utter the same toast." Percy raised his glass and swallowed painfully as he spoke aloud, plainly and strongly, "Draco Malfoy."  
  
There was a low murmur, the unmistakable _chink_ of expensive crystal, and the quiet, respective sips of the finest wine followed by the smack of lipsticked lips. The reigning silence prevailed and the light that had felt uncomfortably like a spotlight before now seemed to be drowning Percy in heat and a too-bright illumination. He squinted, his eyes smarting not entirely from physical discomfort, and noticed the open-mouthed stares and wide eyes that were being cast in his direction.  
  
He refolded the thrice-cursed speech that he had used not a word of (intentionally) and stuffed it in his pocket before shuffling off the stage with a self-conscious tilt to his shoulders. While he had not outright accused the Ministry, or even blatantly claimed their responsibility, he had implied enough that their hands were not clean and, while the words had come easily to him up on the platform, they all but flew from him now.  
  
He walked back to his seat in a daze and found himself being clapped on the shoulder by his youngest brother. "It was a speech worthy of him, Perce," he said in a coarse tone, as though his throat was raspy from an excess of alcohol. And no doubt it was. Though, if anyone had reason to drink…  
  
"He would have been proud," Potter muttered, his voice sticking, and Percy found that he still couldn't look at the man. It wasn't his fault, Percy knew it, Draco had sacrificed himself for something bigger - not for Potter, but for a hero, for a figurehead, for a future - but he still wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- look at him.  
  
Potter's head hung lower the longer Percy averted his eyes and he picked at his napkin with his thumbnail desolately as the awkward silence stretched on. Potter made a harsh sound at the back of his throat and Percy could feel it coming and suddenly he couldn't bear it. He gritted the backs of his teeth and hunched lower, waiting for it. Hating it, but waiting for it.  
  
"Percy, I—" Potter began, his voice distorted with grim misery.  
  
Ron's voice hurtled in, steamrolling over Potter's.  "You gave the Ministry a black eye tonight," he whirred hurriedly, patting Percy a bit too hard on the arm in his haste to help him forget what would have been Potter's fumbling apology. "I don't think anyone could have predicted it," he finished a bit breathlessly, his bright grin looking only the tiniest bit forced.  
  
Percy muttered something under his breath, amused despite himself. The remnants of Potter's words still stuck, the way yesterday's faux pas still stuck around the next morning reddening one's cheeks with embarrassment.  
  
Hermione caught sight of his expression and inquired quizzically, "What did you say?"  
  
Percy cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his rigid chair. "It's the quiet ones you have to look out for, that's what Draco always said."  
  
Percy thumbed the condensation on his glass, not hearing Hermione's sympathetic reply as he smiled to himself and thought with grudging affection, _'Must you always be right, Malfoy?'_  
  
It was hours later that Percy pulled at his tasteful tie, which suddenly felt constricting and branding, as he walked to his bedroom. He stopped cold as his peripheral slid to the abandoned desk in the corner of his living room. He walked carefully, as if he feared spooking the ancient thing, and picked up an unfinished, lackluster frame that held the only picture he had of a smirking blond man that was already long forgotten in the minds of his brethren.  
  
He slid his hand over the smudged glass reverently, like a scholar with a venerated text, and a mocking voice floated back to him, as if the image had spoke it though the smirking mouth had never opened.  
  
 _"You'll be mad for me before this is all over."_  
  
Percy allowed himself a small, secretive smile and he whispered lightly while the picture smirked at him knowingly, "Must you always be right?"  
  
He whistled a familiar tune as he placed the frame on his desk and went to his bedroom, the wind seeming to carry the accompanying words, " _As I went to Bonner, a met a pig without a wig, upon my word and honor_."  



End file.
